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The Pick Up

11/3/2006

The bar was noisy, crowded and smoky. He had introduced
himself as A. D. She was Lauren. The two had struck up a conversation
after a couple of dances together. Could that guy dance!
He was shorter than average, just about her height and slight
of stature. She didn’t care about his height really. With
her heels off at her current 5’7” she would be about two inches
shorter than him, and that was fine with her. He was attractive,
very well dressed in an expensive looking cashmere sweater,
wool slacks and accessorized to the hilt, immaculately
groomed, intelligent and witty. He was so fair skinned
with only the barest hint of facial hair at his jaw line,
presenting an almost boyish image. Was he gay? Bi? She liked
him but wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was all those things together
that she was attracted to. Perhaps it was how he nursed that
one drink, a double whisky, neat instead of drinking more
than he should and getting sloppy.


She was attractive, early thirties and her modestly cut
blouse revealed just a hint of the cleavage beneath. Her
legs extending from her short but tasteful skirt were firm
from years of workouts at the gym. Her toes evidenced a fresh
French pedicure. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was
cut simply, but well. She liked that fact that it was her
suggestion to go someplace a little quieter. He was patient
she thought, and so was she, normally.


They left in his car, a shiny domestic convertible. She
was glad that he didn’t follow the trends and drive a big
SUV. Practical, she thought, just like her Japanese sedan.
He put the top down at her request even though the evening
was cool. He motioned to the glove box. She opened it and
pulled out a simple silk scarf for her hair. She wasn’t used
to someone being so prepared and considerate. They rode
along the freeway listening to Fleetwood Mac on the CD player.


After they had exited the freeway and driven to an older
part of town they parked outside a small non-descript one-story
brick building. The only hint of its business was the sign
outside that said The Yellow Rose Saloon. Picture windows
allowed one to see into this saloon and its inside was different
than one would expect. There was actual furniture inside,
arranged in small settings conducive to private conversation.
There was a bar a couple of steps up from the floor, but the
scene was far different than the one prior.


They walked in and took position on the floor, him in a wing
chair and her on a love seat. The furniture was more worn
than it appeared from outside, but it was comfortable and
the place was much quieter. This was her idea of a bar. Drink,
snack and talk without competing with loud music and individuals
trying to be something they weren’t. Here you could lie
back and be yourself. Pretenses were unnecessary here
and she sensed that they would also be unwelcome.


He had an Irish Coffee and she a mudslide. They talked of
different things, the weather, the recent elections,
movies, and the usual subjects that people talked about
when they were getting to know one another. She liked him.
He was warm, funny, genteel and intelligent. He had soft
manicured hands and was a professional pianist. That explained
a lot about him, his mannerisms, so polished, deliberate
and confident.


Although he was in town for only a few days he had been to the
city numerous times and was staying at a high-rise apartment
loaned to him by a patron of the arts. The discussions and
jokes continued and she felt a desire to have this man in
spite of the fact that she had just ended a lengthy relationship.
He offered to take her back to her car but she said that she
had come with friends and that they wouldn’t be looking
for her that evening. She looked into his blue eyes, smiled
and slowly blinked her eyes hoping that he would take her
up on the offer. He wouldn’t feel comfortable taking her
to the apartment that wasn’t his, explained. No problem
she told him. They could go to her place. He seemed reluctant
at first, as he had a concert the next evening and needed
some rest and he would have to leave after a while. She agreed,
so he paid the tab and they left.


Her place was a neat two-bedroom apartment with a fireplace
and separate breakfast and dining areas. By the apartment’s
appearance she either didn’t spend much time at home or
was a good housekeeper. She lit the gas logs in the fireplace
and offered him a drink. Did she have any brandy? Yes? Brandy
would be fine.


She brought the drinks, set them on the hearth and sat down
in front of the fireplace on some cushions that she had thrown
down. She asked his preference of music, apologizing that
she didn’t have any thing classical. He laughed and said
that soft rock was fine if she had some. Santana? Sure. Perfect.
She put on the “Best of Santana” and they gazed into the fire,
her head on his shoulder, their backs resting against the
sofa.


She loved his cologne. What was it? Oh, Obsession. She loved
that, and placed her face to his neck to further sample his
fragrance. It was always the same but always different,
depending on who was wearing it. She kissed his neck and
tugged at his ear, sucking slightly. He reacted by edging
closer to her and putting his arm around her waist. He noticed
that the top of her blouse had been unbuttoned giving a better
look at what lay below.


He placed his hand on her blouse, resting on her breast.
Her chest heaved outward trying to desperately make firmer
contact with this gentle touch. He unbuttoned her blouse
further and pulled it from her skirt. Her bra was black with
hooks in front. His hands deftly undid the hooks exposing
her smallish breasts with nipples pointing upward. He
touched them lightly and they swelled more. That touch!
Such soft and sensitive fingers and hands. His face came
to hers. He looked into her eyes, smiled slightly and then
kissed her warmly. Oh his lips were nice! And his tongue
was so talented. Oh if only he would put it to other uses,
she thought. He kisses as well as he dances or was it the other
way around? Oh damn she was getting hot. His fingers twisting
and tugging on her nipples. Surely they were so hard as to
injure his hands. Kiss them please! Warm them. Tease them,
but please put that sweet mouth to more use! Oh damn he was
good! Patient, gentle, pushing all the right buttons…
Is he this great at everything? She wanted him so much.


She reached for him to slide her hand beneath his sweater.
He gently held her hand and told her that there would be time
for him later, but now he wanted to please her. Oh yes! He
is going to put that sweet mouth and tongue to use! Her arousal
increased and her fluids flowed more freely. He bent down
and kissed her breast. At last! Yes! Oh my God! He sucked
on her nipple just the way she would want. Mmmmm… How perfect!


He tugged on her nipples and raked the edge of his teeth across
them. They were little knives making such sweet cuts. Oh
his warmth! His sensual kisses! His tongue slid between
her breasts, tracing around the bottom and returning back
to her nipple. Her perfume radiated as her body heat increased.
The other one? Oh yes. Just as sweet and gentle and knowing.
Was it the brandy, the fireplace or the moment that was causing
her to flush? Had to get… out… of this… blouse… bra… so warm….
Mmmmm… oh he was… so… so much better than her last lover!


He gently eased his attention to her breasts and gazed into
her eyes searching for permission to continue. Her look
confirmed that she wanted more. His understood and kissed
her on the cheek, so softly, his tongue barely touching
beneath his lips. He kissed the inner portion of her ear,
tracing its contours with his tongue while his hand moved
under her skirt. She was glad that she had removed her panties
at the bar, just in case things progressed to where they
were now, nothing to awkwardly interrupt the moment. The
path was cleared now; her closely trimmed and shaved womanhood
was framed with just her black lace garter.


He found her wetness. His touch was soft as petals on velvet.
Ohhhhhh yessss….. Such hands! So very sensitive. Fingers
that moved across a keyboard and played the notes were now
playing a different tune, a sexual symphony. Lightly,
ever so softly he divided her labia, stroking that divide
and gently, slowly moving up to her now swelling clitoris.
Her moans were barely audible, as soft as his touch was tender.
She shuddered as she inhaled in response to his slight breathing
in her. His tongue was still busy working in unison with
those lips, sucking her earlobe, tugging with his teeth.
Still… so… warm… I… Ohhhh… mmmmmmm.




His oral attention shifted to her fully erect nipples.
Again he traced her breasts with his tongue. Again he tugged
at her nipples. Oh… yes… The little knives again and their
sweet sharpness. She licked her lips, bit them, her mind
absorbing all the sensuous signals from her nerves, the
nerves that he was stroking, kissing, sucking and biting
with such gentle expertise.


His fingers were in her now, slowly in and on their withdrawal
a gentle upward stroke to brush against her swollen clitoris.
Her pelvis thrust to meet his hand, wanting more, wanting
those fingers deeper, and loving the notes that he was playing
with his hand. His fingers swirled around her clitoris,
just like she would do. Her mind focused on his vaginal touch,
his oral warmth, the background music, the combination
of their fragrances and her warmth. Her heart was pounding
with lust. She could hear the pulse of her blood in her ears.
Her breathing was deeper now. Her chest heaved with the
passion inside that was waiting to break free and consume
this man of music. Play me, she thought. She was his instrument.


He shifted his hands to hold her waist and turn her so that
she was on her knees, her elbows on the sofa. Now, she thought.
She was waiting for him. She felt the sweat from her temples
as she rested her head on her arm, waiting for his next symphonic
movement. She didn’t care that she hadn’t been able to play
her own music on him. She wanted him in her mouth. She wanted
to suck and kiss and tug his nipples as he had done with her.
She would, she knew, when he was ready. But now was not the
time and so she enjoyed being the recipient of such lovely
attention.


She felt the wetness of his tongue on her buttocks. Very
wet. She smelled the brandy and then heard rather than felt
the sharp slap of his hand on her bared ass. Then the sting
of the musician’s hand reached her brain. Such warmth ensued.
The pain was sharp but not unpleasant. He had used his brandy-coated
tongue to paint her buttocks and the slap had forced minute
portions into her pores, creating a warming sensation
that she was surprised could be so pleasant. Again the brandied
tongue laid its fine coat of alcohol on her and again the
slap to forced it into her pores. Her ass was red hot! Oh God
where did he learn to do this? He was so… so… ohhhhh… m-m-my…


He led her shoulders off the sofa and onto the floor, her
head resting on the pillow. . Then he was beside her, his
hands spreading her buttocks. She arched her back as much
an invitation as anticipation. He bent down and circled
her anus with his freshly primed tongue, the brandy continuing
its warming wherever he touched. It contracted at the uncommon
touch. He blew softly, chilling it slightly and again it
contracted. He kissed it fully and pulled it gently into
his mouth to soak the opening in diluted brandy. Her anus
warmed at the touch. Her ring of muscle relaxed at the tenderness
of the treatment. His tongue probed and she relaxed more.
Oh such pleasure was being delivered to her! How she would
reciprocate with him! She heard Santana’s “Europa” beginning
in the background. Perfect. This was too much! This was
a dream!


The probe continued and she relaxed more. There was no longer
any resistance to his talented tongue. The musical talent
must thread its way throughout the body, she thought. Again
he pulled her orifice into his mouth and warmed it, probing
yet again and circling the opening. His hand began to play
an accompaniment on her vagina, again with the petal-soft
fingers tracing the natural divide, and again brushing
lightly against the clitoris. She could feel his breath
on her vagina. So close! Oh she wanted him there but he was
doing so well where he was!


As if reading her mind his attention shifted. She nearly
shrieked in ecstasy at his tongues first contact! Oh the
probe of it nearly drove her wild! Her back arched more.
His hands spread her buttocks again. Her vagina was fully
exposed. She felt him softly blow across her wetness and
then lap at it. Then she felt the slight pressure of his finger
upon her anus. Oh yes! She indicated her permission at the
digit’s request by moving into it, relaxing and then impaling
his finger gently upon her. She gasped at the initial intrusion
and backed off. Then again she pressed. His tongue traced
around his finger as if to introduce the finger to her. She
relaxed and the finger slid in again. She moved on it, slowly
in, slowly out, her vaginal juices and his saliva providing
the necessary lubrication. The knuckle on his middle finger
provided a short sensual stretch on entry and exit. She
moaned repeatedly. Nirvana! She was there. He was perfect!
The music, the fire, the heat, the sweat, the fragrances,
the oh so talented digits.


His free hand continued its attention to her slick vagina.
But her current position would not enable him to perform
other tasks, so he led her to roll over onto her back, and
as she was doing so his mouth replaced the fingers in her
vagina. His mouth and the twisting motion of her anus around
his middle finger caused her to inhale in short staccato
breaths. Her vagina, in shock from his instantly active
tongue, spasmed and her anus contracted tightly around
his finger. His tongue was tireless as if tasting for the
first time the richness of a woman. In and out and side to
side it flicked and probed. She was going crazy. Surely
her fluids would be pouring now. As her juices eased out
and down they provided further lubrication for the finger
that was impaling her. Its slow in and out motion continued
with an occasional twist which set her entire pelvic region
on fire. She moaned and arched her back, then thrust herself
to meet his probing finger. Over and over again the knuckle
was making its brief foray into her. Her moans became whines
and whimpers.


His excited tongue continued its exploration of her. He
sampled and tasted her juices. He found her clitoris and
began such a sweet sucking of it that she thought she would
go mad. The warmth from a renewed taste of brandy brought
her clitoris to a boiling point. His tongue flicked and
probed. His mouth sucked her labia, tugging with his teeth.
His solitary finger was adding to the symphony that was
reaching its crescendo.


Her pelvis gained a will of its own, thrusting itself on
his finger, faster and faster. The muscles of her vagina
began to contract in unison with the anus. The clitoris
was swollen to the bursting point. He knew she was near.
He could taste it. Closer. Closer! I-I-I’mmmm… c-c-cummmmmm…


Her eye’s opened wide at the level of her orgasm. She couldn’t
talk but could only stare blankly into his eyes that this
man could bring her here. Her ass was burning with a fire
that spread through her entire pelvis. Her legs quaked
and shuddered. Her eyes teared over. Her breathing was
heavy and fast. Sweat formed on the upper lip that she was
biting. Her arms shook as her orgasm peaked. His hand had
become still as well as his mouth, letting her ride this
wave as best she knew how. Oh God this man was the perfect
lover! Please don’t leave! Such a precious mouth and hands!
With the back of her and over her mouth she cried the tears
of sensual joy. Her teeth bit the back of her hand in a vain
attempt to hide her sobs.


Her orgasm was over now. Her breathing was returning to
normal. He eased his finger from her even more gently than
it had gone in. His mouth sensed the relaxation of her vaginal
muscles and so he eased himself from her. He looked at her
sobbing, seemingly confused at her reaction. He smiled
slightly and wiped the tears from her eyelashes and kissed
her softly on the cheek. He took a final sip from his brandy,
savoring its aroma combined with that of her. Standing
up he asked if she would meet him at a concert the following
evening. She hadn’t been to one since college, but she wanted
to see this man again so she accepted. He said he had to get
up early the next morning and asked for her understanding.


She was confused. Hadn’t he just had his face buried in her
lap and now he was leaving? Oh shit it was the crying! It was
a real turn off for him, but she couldn’t help it! He was that
good! But he wants to meet tomorrow, so maybe… She got up
with him pulling her skirt down and putting on her blouse.
Shy? Was she shy now with this man after what he had been doing?
She laughed to herself at how her sudden modesty must look.
They walked to the door hand in hand, although his walking
came easier than hers. He kissed her warmly and said that
he’d be looking for her the next evening and handed her a
ticket. Did she know where the concert hall was? Okay. Meet
you there, and he was gone.


She sat down and cried, not knowing why. What had she done?
She never went this far with a man after just having been
picked up. And that’s what she was, a pick up. Damn him and
his charm and talents! He travels and probably does this
all the time. And she was just a whore in a different city!
But then, he had pleased her hadn’t he? He hadn’t insisted
on her pleasing him, had he? He said he wanted to see her again
didn’t he? Maybe it was just the crying, but God he made her
feel so wonderful! She still felt the warmth of his “attention.”
And he didn’t seem upset. She was still confused, and still
cried, but was determined to see this through and would
meet him the following night. She took a long, warm, soothing
bath and went to bed. Her preparation for him would begin
in earnest tomorrow.




She awoke late, having slept most fitfully. Great sex did
that for her. Maybe it was the energy exertion, or a mental
thing. Whatever the cause she was fresh and ready to begin
her plans for him. She walked into the living room, over
to the coffee table and checked the concert time on the ticket
and made a mental note of the things that she would need to
do before then. Then she went and started her shower. While
the water was warming up she went into the kitchen and poured
herself a short cup of coffee that had brewed automatically
that morning. After two or three sips she took the cup with
her into the bathroom. As she removed her warm silk gown
she checked herself in the mirror, admiring the figure
before her and appreciating the hundreds of dollars and
hours of work that kept it in its present shape. At thirty-two,
she had the body that a twenty-year old would envy, long
silky legs, narrow hips, tight, firm, round ass, and really
nice, perky, 34C-tits.


She got into the shower and began washing her hair. She loved
the feel of the thick lather in her hair. How she wished she
could wash it the way they did at the salon. Oh they were good
there! The massage of the scalp during the wash, the way
the Vietnamese lady rubbed her neck was all so relaxing,
almost erotic. Must be an oriental thing. As she was thinking
of her hair being shampooed her hand absently strayed.
Her nipples were getting firm. How had he treated them last
night? Oh yes, like that. Mmmmmm. A twist and tug, the fingers
almost snapping loose in the wet. Yes. That was nice. Not
as nice as him, but the thought of him was fresh and he was
so very good.


A hand wandered below her waist. His hands. Yes. So talented.
She repeated the movements that he had the night before,
the slow insertion and the brush of his fingers against
her clitoris. She was already slick with arousal. Yes his
probes into her vagina, and again the brushing of her clitoris.
Mmmmmm, his tongue and the way it parted her, moving up to
her clit and swirling around it. Such gentle sucking with
his warm mouth and busy flicks of his tongue. He had such
an active tongue, almost as quick and vigorous as her little
gel vibra-toy. How had he done that? Just a little… easy…
oooo… yess… mmmmmm. Oh yes. She could imagine him there
now. Slowly in, past the… knuckle… mmmmm.


She sat down in the shower cross-legged with the one finger
behind and her holding the shower wand set on pulsate. Just
a gentle pulse was all that was necessary. She anchored
it with her legs and feet so that its gentle “drum-drum-drum”
of water would do the most good. Her free hand was used to
probe her vagina and make the water’s stream more accessible
to certain sensitive parts. Her mind reflected to the previous
evening and his gentle touch. He knew every button to push
and how to push it, she thought. She rocked on her finger
more. The water’s jets were beating her clitoris gently,
almost like his tongue had. Her hand probed and fingered
her organ. She spread her labia and rubbed beside her clit
while the water continued its dutiful drum-drum-drum.
Her breathing increased and her breasts heaved. Yes, he
was so good. His tongue was everywhere it should be. Yes!
So… sweet… he… I-I-I… mmmmmmm… oooooooo…


She inhaled through her teeth and exhaled in a noiseless
whistle as her orgasm came. It left her panting there in
the floor of the shower, her head bowed, the jets of water
directed away from her sensitivity. Her legs quivered
some. She wondered if it was from the orgasm or their crossed
and cramped position. She began to sweat in the body’s effort
to cool itself down, in this hot shower. She gently rose
and removed herself from her impalement the finger’s absence
leaving the muscle momentarily stretched and open. She
stood up weakly, re-rinsed her hair and soaped herself
up and finished her shower without further interruptions.


She had her hair cut and enjoyed the scalp and neck massage
from the oriental woman. Today she was most appreciative
of the manual attention given to her scalp and neck so she
tipped the lady $5. After her haircut she went shopping
for a dress. She wanted a nice one for the evening, and went
to one of the better department stores. Although she wanted
to spend a lot on one, she kept things in perspective and
decided on a dress that she could wear frequently again
and that would go with some shoes that she had recently purchased.
She reasoned that if things didn’t work out she could still
wear the dress elsewhere. She had her hands waxed and her
nails done. Now she was ready to assemble the package and
meet her man.


Her man? What was she thinking? It had been a chance encounter.
She had done with him what she generally never did. She started
to begin her self-degradation again but shook herself
out of it. She thought positive. He had given her the ticket,
had asked her to join him. But wait a moment! Why couldn’t
he have picked her up? Why was he meeting her there, and where
and when precisely? It became clear to her then that he had
used the concert as a ruse to leave her gently and avoid a
scene. He wasn’t going to the concert. He had tickets that
someone probably gave him, that arts patron, and he was
going to stand her up! She got angry at him, that he would
do such a thing, and at herself for not seeing through his
charade! She imagined herself sitting there dressed to
the nines, anxiously waiting for him to come and sit beside
her, the lights going down and an empty seat next to her.
People would be mentally laughing! Some maybe sympathetic.
Oh look at that poor dear! Her date didn’t show, and on and
on and on. She hated men! How could she be so stupid? She didn’t
have the license plate number from his car, a phone number…
Shit! She didn’t even have his last name! Where the fuck
had she been? Was she temporarily brain dead? She was smarter
than this she thought, but would have to reconsider.


She remained angry with herself, him, men in general and
any other individual that got in her way. She was angry for
the $5 tip that she left earlier. As her mind wandered she
prepared herself for the concert as if set on autopilot.
Finally, the time came for her to leave. Checking one last
time in the mirror she thought, damn she looked good! Whether
with him or someone else, she was on a mission to have some
fun, and anyone that stood in her way had better watch out.


She got to the concert hall an hour early. The valet gave
her a receipt and stole several glances at her as she walked
up the steps. Others noticed her as well. Guys with their
dates breaking stride in their conversations. She took
the complimentary program and walked around the hall,
looking at the list of sponsoring patrons prominently
displayed on one wall, the small bar down the way that sold
simple drinks at outrageous prices and the architect’s
model of the building and the customary pictures of the
building’s transition from bare ground to the finished
product. Uh-huh, very nice, how boring she thought. Where
is he? Oh he’s not coming. Yes he is. The mental anxiety continued.
Finally the doors to the auditorium opened and people began
lining up to enter.


When she gave the attendant her ticket he checked it against
some list on the podium. Great she thought. The tickets
were probably stolen and now I’m going to be arrested or
escorted out. The attendant snapped his fingers at an usher
who hurried over. She was about to turn around and leave,
when the usher smiled at her and presented his arm. She took
it nervously and went with him down the aisle. Conversations
stopped briefly at her passing creating a small wake of
silence beside and behind her. He stopped at a private box
of two seats and indicated her chair. She smiled and sat
down, instantly aware of eyes focused on her. She felt flushed
and her temples began to warm. Okay, so she had a ticket to
box seats, compliments of the anonymous patron. She glanced
casually around and smiled weakly at eyes that met hers.
There was no animosity in the faces that met her glances.
Rather it was one of respect, admiration or something she
couldn’t put her finger on. Her hot flash faded. The freshness
of her arrival passed, she relaxed and enjoyed watching
the other people engaged in their own quiet conversations.


The time for the concert’s beginning neared and still the
adjacent seat was empty. The orchestra members continued
the quiet tuning of their instruments. The usher returned,
handed her a rose and envelope and retreated to the back
of the hall. Oh great, she thought. So sorry, but something
came up. Please accept my apologies or some other lame excuse.
She hated men! As she opened the envelope and began to read
the lights dimmed and the orchestra was quiet. What did
it say? Sorry… lied… change… discuss… She couldn’t make
out all the words. The crowd began its applause as the conductor
walked out, bowed to the audience and… to her? The level
of applause increased sharply as the pianist walked on
stage.


She was beautiful. She… she? She! He’s a she! Her man… was
a woman! He… she… had lied to her.. or had he... she? She had
allowed this woman to do all those things to her while thinking
she was a he? No wonder he, she knew all the right buttons
to push. No man would know how to truly treat a woman. Only
by being one could one understand. One of the greatest orgasms
in her life was the result of a woman’s affections focused
on her.


Tears began forming in her eyes. She had been so affected
the prior evening by this gorgeous woman. This pianist!
How was he, she nicknamed? A.D.? She checked the program
carefully for the first time. The guest pianist’s first
name was Adrienne! A.D.? Adrienne? On the back was a picture
of him, her. Yes! If she had only looked closer before walking
down the aisle she would have realized what had happened
to her. She could have left and the incident would remain
her secret forever. An option had been to leave before being
spotlighted in this crowd. Now... now she was trapped.


A flash of heat washed over her. Did they have any idea what
had transpired the night before? No wonder they had stared
so! They were probably laughing behind their cordial and
friendliness. What did everyone think?


Her tears swelled in her eyes, as she plucked a tissue from
her purse. She looked up at him, her, A.D., Adrienne, the
pianist smiling in response to the adulation, eyes gleaming
and scanning the audience. They focused on Lauren and seemed
to ask a question, her eyebrows ever so slightly rose. This
was wonderful!


Lauren dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye and looked
at A.D. Yes. Lauren nodded her head. Yes, she mouthed. A.D.
seemed to relax a bit and continued acknowledging the crowd.
As she sat down the crowd hushed, the conductor raised his
baton and at the down stroke the orchestra played. Lauren
listened to the music and A.D.’s playing. She was as perfect
in her music as she was in her lovemaking.


Lauren recollected about the last six months and her recent
breakup with Philip. He was Lauren’s first attempt at a
pure heterosexual relationship since her mid-twenties.
She had experienced the bi lifestyle for some time and was
still uncertain about her preferences… until the previous
night. Now she knew what she was and what she wanted, and
she wanted A.D. She closed her eyes and listened to the music,
a piano concerto by Beethoven. At intermission she kept
her seat and read the letter from A.D.


“Dear Lauren, by your presence I assume you know the truth
about me now. I recently ended a marriage and have been curious
about the alternative side of sexual preferences. To deceive
you last night was wrong and I am sorry I lied to you. I was
ready for a change and was immensely attracted to you. I
had to sample the other side. May we please discuss? ‒ A.D.”


Lauren would be around to discuss things after the concert
all right. She wanted to get to know someone and something
very well. And maybe she would even acquire a taste for classical
music.

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